Nobody Sees, Nobody Knows [Jensen Ackles + Misha Collins | Cockles | mxm]

Chapter Twenty-Three

My hands are shaking slightly as I excuse myself and get up from the table.

Wow, Misha. That one been stewing with you long?

Feeling damn stupid, I try to drown out the hushed, accusatory whispers directed at Jensen as I leave the room. Bitching at him for bitching at me isn't going to change his perspective. It's not going to make him any more accepting of the role he has to play as Castiel's lover, more receptive to the idea of our on-screen relationship. It's not going to make him sorry for taking it out on me, not really.

And it won't stop him from being an asshole about it over and over again until the producers relent or I quit or he quits or the whole damn thing blows up in our faces in some other way. Because it will.

Once outside, I feel instantly better. I usually find solace in nature when I'm stressed, whether it be a jog or a simple, relaxing walk; it's how I unwind. People marvel at my discipline, but the truth is that, barring hangovers, I love waking up early and running while the sun rises. I need it.

I relish the thought of my morning runs. Running, until all of the tension and nerves and worry bleed out through my pores, sweeping away in salty lines of sweat until I'm clean and whole and calm again.

So I start running. I find a trail shrouded in dense foliage at the edge of the yard and I follow it, not caring where I end up, the thrill of anticipation and adventure tingling in my veins.

It feels great to be out. To be able to shed Castiel for a while.

Shaking off the emotional baggage of our characters is only getting harder, and the weird intensity isn't dissipating like it used to before. I thought this time off set would lighten things up and clear the air. But frankly, it's off-putting and exhausting and I miss the carefree days.

My friendship with Jensen used to be companionable and warm, not stiff and uncomfortable.

Smiling fondly, I conjure up the memories of my years spent working on the set of Supernatural. Tossing a football around in the parking lot, Jensen and Jared creaming me with a pie in the face, rock climbing with the guys, pranking each other with gag copies of the script, talking over the 99-cent coffee they bring in for the P.A.s, joking about rabid fangirls and crashing each other's panels. Singing - more like screeching - at the top of our lungs while barreling down the interstate at 80 miles per hour, far from home but at the same time at home in each other's company. Being backstage with Jensen and going over my schedule again in my head to make sure I haven't forgotten anything while he comforts me with his trademark massages. But Destiel? This is easily the weirdest shit we've ever done together.

I sigh wistfully, willing myself to absorb the peacefulness of my surroundings.

All around me, cavernous trees reach their leafy branches into the pale sky, forming an interwoven canopy, branches swaying slightly with the gentle breeze. I take in a deep breath of the cool, fresh air.

For several minutes, I follow the path in silence, the sun casting dappled patterns along the shady dirt trail, before the forest yields to a vast clearing. The scenery looks like something off of a friggin' Hallmark card. It's spectacular.

Contrasting deeply with the azure sky, lush green fields stretch out beyond the horizon, dotted with sleek, long-legged horses grazing lazily in the afternoon sun, their tails swishing away flies. The dazzling light glints off a silver sedan as it crunches onto the cobblestone path of what must be a ranch.

The sprawling green meadows set against the dark wood of the barns leave me breathless. Hills of green wink against a backdrop of azure sky, painted with puffy white clouds, and a border of trees fences off the terrain, seeming to go on forever. The sound of rushing water in the distance mingles with the occasional chirp of a bird or snort from one of the horses.